


Seventeen Hours

by Faline (rubberbisquit)



Series: The Best of Us [8]
Category: Jericho (US 2006)
Genre: F/M, Getting out of seasons 3 and 4 spoilers now, Not really graphic torture, She gets off easy, Torture, and I couldn't do that to Heather, because I can't write that at all, because that would have been divergent, except Constantino lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbisquit/pseuds/Faline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bounty Constantino placed on Heather's head finally catches up with her</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seventeen Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShirleyAnn66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/gifts).



_Nine days earlier_

Something was wrong.

 

Off about the situation.

 

Heather slid her eyes between Trish Merrick and the Mayor of Brownstown.  The cadre of men standing at the mayor’s back were armed; that wasn’t unusual.  The sheer number, however, was off putting.  It was Trish and Heather, parading as dutiful J & R employees, gathering requests from cities.  A dozen armed men was overkill.

 

She swallowed the panic that was building and looked around at the fields lining this remote back road again.  Just like Beck had taught her.  Always be aware of her surroundings.  The space was wide and open.  They weren’t in danger of being ambushed and yet . . .

 

This felt like a trap.

 

Trish seemed oblivious to Heather’s worry, quickly writing down the requests the mayor gave her.  They started as mundane: food rations, gas, warm clothes.  His list turned absurd quickly and Trish was getting irritated.  After the mayor mentioned that it’d be nice to get a pony, Trish dropped her pad and let out a sigh.  “Sir, this is important.  We’ve been trying to reach you for weeks for this list.  Jennings and Rahl can’t help if we don’t know what you need.  Please, your list sir.  Your _real_ list.”  


 

Heather could almost see the double cross happening, right before her eyes.  A few men shifted in the back of the crowd and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her horror.  Those were Constantino’s men, standing almost fifty miles from New Bern and staring her down with hungry eyes.  She lunged forward, grabbing Trish’s arm.  “We should, uh, give them a few more days to think about what they need.  We’ll be going; talk to you later Mayor!”

 

Trish shot her a mildly irritated look.  Heather got her a few steps before the blond jerked free.  “What are you doing, Heather?  You’re going to blow our cover.”  Her words were fierce and grumpy.  Heather understood the feeling.  It couldn’t be pleasant to be in the middle of subterfuge when your partner just suddenly decides to break character and run.

 

“Trish.  We have to go.  Now.”

 

The warning in Heather’s eyes, obvious fear for the most part, must have registered for Trish.  The blond nodded slowly and let Heather back her away, back towards the safety of their SUV.  “Yes, my colleague is right.  We’ll radio you in the next few days to pick this discussion back up.”

 

They were a dozen feet from the SUV when they heard the sound of a shot gun being racked.  Heather and Trish both froze.  Men swarmed up the side of the ditch, hidden by tall grass.  Their numbers doubled and then they tripled.  “We only got one need, Miss J & R.  And you brought her right to us.”  The mayor let out a dark laugh and then raised his voice, “Heather Lisinski.  There’s a bounty out on you and I’m gonna collect today.”

 

She cursed, frantically looking for her opening.  Beck had given her tips in self-defense but he’d never covered _this_.  Trish shifted her weight, ready to run, and Heather shook her head.  If she ran they’d just gun her down.  These men didn’t need the blond.  If Heather played her cards right, they’d let Trish go and she could get back to Jericho, could get help.  She could get Beck.

 

And then Heather heard the unmistakable voice behind her that sent her panic into a tail spin of horror.

 

“I cannot believe your Major let you leave Jericho without a protection detail, Miss Lisinski.”  She wanted to vomit, wanted to cry.  Wanted to scream that she’d been a fucking moron.  Because she knew Constantino still had a price on her head and here he was.  Ten feet away and taunting her stupidity at thinking she could get away with this mission.

 

“Don’t worry.  I’ll send him back a souvenir; he won’t be so careless next time.”

 

She glanced over at Trish and gave her a pleading look, asking for forgiveness.  Neither of them would be getting out of this in one piece.

 

Sudden darkness swallowed Trish’s response.

 

When Heather woke, she was disoriented.  The back of her head hurt and her joints were stiff.  She’d been restrained for a while, probably a few hours.  She blinked away the cobwebs clouding her vision and inspected her body.  She was tied to a chair by the upper arms, her hands free but useless behind her back.  Her thighs were also bound, the chains just shy of her knees.  Her ankles were shackled together.  Not good at all.

 

The room was terrifying.  A lone overhead light allowed her to see a row of destroyed medical beds along one wall.  Desks and chairs were cluttered on the other side.  This place had probably been a hospital at one point.  _The abandoned hospital in Ferndale?  11 miles from New Bern, 47 from Jericho._   She’d heard whispers about the hospital her whole childhood but had never been brave enough to accept the dares to investigate.

 

Some said it was haunted and if you were there at the right time after dark you could hear screams.

 

One, long shriek echoed through the room and then trailed off into sobs.  Heather jumped at the sound.  _Trish_.  It had to be Trish.  The noise didn’t come again and she swallowed her fear.  She needed to get out of this room.  The ropes were too tight and too far from her hands but maybe there was something sharp . . .

 

The door opened slowly, a ragged group of men entering.  She counted them, seven in total, each with a weapon of some sort.  One stepped forward, pulling a disused rolling chair over to sit and stare at her.

 

“Where am I?”

 

He remained silent.  She repeated the question, looking around at the faces staring down at her.  They were all men from New Bern, ones who had bought Constantino’s bull shit hook, line, and sinker.  She swallowed again.

 

An hour of questions and accusations followed.  They asked things she had no answers to about supply lines for the A.S.A. and the army’s opinion of Beck.  They wanted ammunition to use against Beck, to ‘take their town back’ from a dictator.  She offered no response.  She didn’t know a lot of the answers and the ones she did she wasn’t about to give up.  They began smacking her then, leaving her head ringing.

 

The second hour was silent, so silent she could hear her blood dripping from her wounds, one drop thirty-seven seconds.  At that rate, she’d bleed out in days.  She’d be okay.

 

After silence, they left her door open and she heard the unmistakable sound of Trish being tortured, begging for mercy.  Heather strained and pulled at the ropes around her arms again.  She even tried to knock her chair over and loosen her bonds.  She got nowhere and when the men came back for hour four, she was face down in her own blood, crying because Trish hadn’t done anything.

 

Trish’s only crime was letting Heather talk her into this hair brained scheme.

 

The men reminded her of this fact a lot between the strikes.  They reminded her that she was an idiot as they cut her shirt away with a rusty knife.  They taunted her as they circled, describing all the disgusting things they could do to her. 

 

She let her head drop then, completely incapable of facing this new threat head on.  She could deal with their words and their fists but the threat of rape . . . she couldn’t-

 

The sting of a punch to her sternum left her gasping.

 

The men started at her ribs and worked their way down to her thighs and back up.  Hands, whips, switches.  Anything that could get a rise out of her.  They never hit her hard enough to leave immediate damage, building their attacks on top of the previous strike.  The bruising would be deep. 

 

They were keeping her pretty, she realized.  Probably to protect their asses with Jericho or Beck or just because they were strange assholes.  She didn’t know and she didn’t care.

 

Fury burned in her eyes when they asked about the agreement of protection between Jericho and the A.S. military.

 

There was no agreement between Jericho and the A.S.A.  Because Beck’s army was not A.S.

 

They would have to use something a lot harsher than beatings to tear that information from her.

 

Hour seven brought Constantino.  He pulled the chair back across the room and stopped it gently in front of her.

 

In her memories, Constantino was the Sherriff, a widower with a daughter Heather had baby sat during high school.  He was kind smiles and rides home in a squad car while she asked asinine questions about how his audio rig worked.

 

The Constantino in front of her held a radio up to her lips and ordered her to say her name.

 

She spat at him and he back handed her across the temple. 

 

That one was going to bruise, for sure.

 

The radio crackled and Beck’s voice flooded her senses.  “I’m going to give you one minute to supply me with the location of Heather Lisinski.  If you refuse, New Bern will be declared a hostile zone and all measures will be taken to find her.  By any means necessary.”

 

She was glad she was still doubled over in pain.  Her eyes fluttered shut with relief and hope at the sound of Beck’s voice.  She steeled her expression, another one of Beck’s tricks, and glared up at Constantino.  He was staring straight at her but he hadn’t pressed the mic on the radio. 

 

“Do you understand, Constantino?”

 

Constantino laughed deeply, keeping his gaze on her.  “All those people in New Bern and he’s going to kill them for you Heather.  That’s what the A.S.A. does.  This is what they’ve been doing to us for _months_.”

 

She wanted to scream and rail at him, explain exactly how wrong he was about Beck but she couldn’t.  She wouldn’t.  She had to keep up the cover. 

 

“You’re a maniac, Constantino.  And I’m going to enjoy watching you die.”

 

It wasn’t her finest moment, taunting the vicious criminal holding her captive.  “You should choose your words more carefully, Heather.  I haven’t decided yet if you’re going back to Jericho in one piece.”

 

He brought up the radio, drawling, “Your terms- “

 

Heather yelled Beck’s name, letting him know that she was there; she was alive.  Without taking his finger off the mic, Constantino hit her again.  The blow fell to the side of her head, where she’d been hit when she’d been taken.  He kept pressing the mic even as she let out a sharp grunt from the strike.  A low moan slipped free as her vision blurred.

 

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Major: your terms are unacceptable.  My demands are the same.  Remove your troops from New Bern and Jericho and I will release Heather to her people.”

 

He let go of the mic and waited.  Arms crossed and smug expression on his face, he waited for Beck’s response.  She imagined Beck was probably in town hall, gathered with the Rangers around Gray’s desk.  Or perhaps he was on conference with the big wigs in Cheyanne.  The kidnapping of his civilian liaison would require he notify his ‘superiors’. 

 

Beck’s voice was calm and collected, ever the stoic soldier.  “Please be aware that a military convoy is heading to New Bern as I speak.  Heather Lisinski will be waiting on the outskirts, unharmed, on Route 6 when that convoy arrives or more troops will follow.”

 

Constantino’s grin was vicious at the reply but his eyes were dead.  Heather blinked away the image of the man in front of her, years removed from that moment, tickling his daughter in their back yard.

 

“Just remember this is your fault, Beck.”  Constantino was going to kill them and he was going to make sure Beck was there to see it.

 

Something tickled the back of her mind as Constantino stood to leave.  “Wait, Beck only asked for me.  Why didn’t he ask for Trish too?”

 

The man paused by the door and glanced over his shoulder.  “Was _that_ her name?”  He laughed and shrugged, giving a knowing look to his men.  The heavy metal slammed shut after him and Heather stared.

 

He couldn’t have meant-

 

_NO._

Heather screamed until she was almost too tired to breathe, devolving into a gasping, quivering mess.

 

Around hour eleven, she jolted awake from a fitful sleep by a scream.  Her head jerked up, foggy from sleep and the concussion she was sure to have.  There, she heard it again.  It was a terrified, animalistic yelp; too deep to be female.  Constantino must have had more people in this horror house.  The thought wasn’t reassuring.  This whole compound and Beck hadn’t found it yet.  Not only that, he hadn’t found it long before she’d been taken . . . she shoved the thought down.

  
Beck would come.  He had to.  He was a miracle worker.  _Unless he’s trying to find someone,_ she reminded herself.  He’d only found the Rangers because they’d come out of hiding.

 

_No._

Beck would find her.

 

The screaming started again.

 

He had to find her.

 

Heather focused on that thought as it approached hour twelve.  The faint light of morning was filtering in through the shuttered windows.  Her arms and legs had gone numb from the extended position yet she could tell she was injured.  The ache had sunk into her bones.  She needed to get her blood flowing, prepared for anything.  If she needed to run she had to be ready for it-

 

The door burst open, three armed men circling her with their weapons raised.  She recognized them all as ‘special’ line workers at the factory.  Bomb technicians, she thought ruefully.

 

Constantino followed, dragging his chair back over to her and sitting down, hard.  The jovial nature of their first interview was gone as he held the radio up to her face.  “Say your name.”  He pressed the mic button.

 

She stared back in blank determination.  She wouldn’t play his games. 

 

His finger left the mic and a second later, Beck’s voice was back.  “Heather, this is Major Beck.  Please state your name and your condition.”  He sounded exhausted but resolved.

 

She didn’t grin.  He was still hopeful, still looking for her.  Constantino raised the radio again.  She opened her mouth, and tried to say her name.  Her throat was so dry.  Between the screaming, the crying, and twelve hours without water, it felt like sandpaper.  She swallowed a few times and tried again.  “This is . . . Heather Lisinski.  And I’m a little beat up but I’m okay.  Beck- “

 

Constantino pulled the radio again and stood.  “There’s your proof of life.   Now, pull your troops out of New Bern and Jericho.  Your continued aggression against these cities is over, Beck.  Do not make me ask again.”

 

He was losing his edge; he sounded desperate despite the even delivery of his words.  Constantino whispered to two of his men and then glanced back at her.  When he saw the grin on her face he snarled.  “I don’t know what you’re happy about.  That prick just bombed our medical center.”  He leaned close so Heather could see his anger up close.  “With patients inside.”

 

The blood drained from her face but she didn’t waver.  “I think you’re lying.  I think Beck is closing in on us and you’re in deep shit.”

 

Constantino straightened, irritation clear in his expression.  Heather didn’t register his foot raising but she sure as hell registered the floor as it impacted with the back of her skull.  “You’re only important if I get what I want, Heather.”

 

She coughed, pulling air back into her lungs, and grinned again.  “You can only get what you want if I’m alive.”

 

“And that’s what I’ll keep telling Beck, don’t you worry.”

 

There was a finality as he slammed the door shut.  At least he’d changed her position a bit.  She could finally feel her toes again.

 

From the corner of the room, the jingle of a belt buckle being loosened made her jump.  She had completely forgotten about the third man.  She braced for impact but the strikes were harder, more scattered then they’d been before.  They left stinging welts in their path until he finally broke skin, somewhere around her sixth rib. 

 

Hour fourteen brought stifling heat.  Heather tried to keep her head tipped back to keep the sweat and blood from dripping her eyes.  She needed her vision to escape.  She also needed to stop sweating.  She was already dehydrated. 

 

Beck had once thrown Jake in front of a heat lamp and left him there.

 

She wondered if Beck had beaten Jake first or had just roughed him up a little bit.  Beck had been a little fuzzy on the details when he’d given her a run-down, post-defection.

 

Heather forced the thought from her mind.  Beck was . . . she still couldn’t entirely justify what Beck had done.  She probably never would.  But she could forgive him because she _knew_ he was a good man put in a difficult situation and lied to, repeatedly, about everything.

 

That was enough to make anyone act like a shit heel.

 

The temperature kept rising; Heather was having a hard focusing.  The combination of blood loss and heat meant that she didn’t even notice the door open.  She didn’t notice the figure cross the room to her.  When Russell’s face appeared in front of her, she had to stare for a good thirty seconds before she understood what she was seeing.

 

He held a hand to her mouth to keep her silent and then held a bottle of water up to her lips.  “Beck knows where you are.  Be ready.”  He kept his voice low, glancing back at the door as he let the liquid gold pour down her throat.  It felt amazing; the best glass of lemonade after a day in a field.  Breaking the surface on a pond after a frantic race to the water’s edge. 

 

She shivered, water running from her mouth and down her body.  She wanted to ask him questions, figure out what the hell was going on and how he was with her.

 

As the bottle emptied, he stood.  “Keep fighting.  Just a little longer.”

 

The water settled into her clothes, mixing with her sweat.  She was more alert, watching and listening.

 

Any moment.

 

At hour sixteen, a fierce storm arrived with cool air and terrifying crashes of thunder.  Heather winced at every one.  She’d been so focused on non-existent sounds within the complex that the noise was now deafening.  The room darkened considerably and then the building shook.  Heather squeezed her eyes shut; it felt like the whole world was coming down around her.

 

“Heather!”

 

She was hearing things in the chaos.  Her name, faint, in between the sharp claps of thunder. 

 

“Heather, can you hear me?”

 

Her eyes popped open.  The room was still flashing with lightning but she could make out the distinct smell of something burning.  _Gunpowder._

There.  Between the booming thunder she heard it, the unmistakable tat-tat of gun fire. 

 

_Beck_.

 

Heather opened her mouth and yelled his name as loud as she could as the lightning stole the air from the room.  Electricity flooded the atmosphere, the charged particles sending goosebumps up her skin.  She tried to yell again, but there was nothing for it.  She was gasping, trying to catch her breath.

 

A volley of gunfire sounded right outside the door, bullets passing through the thin walls of the room as if they were newspaper.  One whizzed by her head.  She folded in half again, trying to make herself small, to avoid getting shot after hours of torture.

 

She was still huddled in on herself when the door burst open again.  “Heather!”  Her name, once more.  She looked up and grinned.  He’d found her, just like she knew he would.  A small attaché of his men flooded the room, securing it and her.  Saving her.  Beck made a bee-line for her form.  There was a desperate hardness in his eyes as he dropped to his knees next to her.

 

She could have cried at the sight of him.  “Are you hurt?  Where are the keys.  We have to get you out of here now.”  Beck voice was steady but his hands were shaking as he fumbled with a knife to cut her free.  She took a couple of calming breaths and nodded down at him.

 

“I-“ her body racked with coughs.  She wasn’t going to be speaking anytime soon.  He finished with the ropes around her torso and then held a water canteen out for her.  Her arms were shot, too many hours in one position.  Beck had to hold the water to her lips and pour because she couldn’t.  She slipped her eyes closed, ignoring the look of concern on his face as he catalogued her injuries.

 

When she came up for air, he still hovered close.  “Better?”  There was so much relief in that one word.  She cracked a smile and nodded.  She would be better; everything would be fine.

 

A fresh round of bullets entered the room and Beck’s troops hit the deck.  He got her down on the ground, his armored body protecting her own. 

 

“Jones!  Cover the door!  Piquieres, give me those bolt cutters.  We have to move, now.”

 

She tried not to shake as bullets rained down around them.  She focused on the gentleness of Beck’s gloved hands as he carefully cut at her chains instead.  He was immaculately careful as the metal gave way.  Finally, she was free.  Beck ran seeking hands around her ankles and gave her a dark look at the bruising.  “I’m fine.  No broken bones.”  She tried to laugh to lighten the situation but her chest ached at the moment.  She had a couple of ribs that would need wrapping.  “Well, not in the legs.”

 

A lull in gunfire allowed the small group to rise.  Heather’s legs were wobbly but she ignored the weakness.  They had to get out of there and she wasn’t about to slow them down.

 

Her strength was not what she would have hoped for, however.  She made it to the door under her own steam but at the threshold her right leg gave out.  Beck caught her under the arms as she fell and he held her up as his men cleared the hall.

 

“Are you sure nothing’s broken?”  He was urgent, soft words hurried in her ear. 

 

“Yeah, just . . . my legs are asleep.”  She put on her bravest face and she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone with the look he gave her back. 

 

“We’re going to have to run.  Vehicles are parked about a click to the south.”  There was a question and a challenge in his gaze.  She rose her chin, stubbornly refusing to admit that her capture had taken its toll.  He stared down at her for a long moment, face inches away and eyes searching.  He gave her a grim nod and kept supporting her as they left the compound.

 

Twisted hallways lead them through the remains of the hospital, like she’d suspected.  The gunfire followed, but rarely did she catch a glimpse of Constantino’s men as they rushed to safety.  With the storm still raging and the electricity flickering, she had the distinct impression that they were in a horror house and would be safely back on the fair midway in moments.

 

In the front foyer her feet skidded to a top.  Amid the broken furniture and rubble of a building long disused, three bodies were piled near what had been the reception desk.  Beck urged her on, closer to the bodies and to freedom.  She gave a cry as she recognized Russell, lying at the top of the pile.  His eyes were open, mouth caught in an eternal scream.  Blood was still dripping from the bullet holes in his chest.  Bile rose in her throat.  The strong arm around her chest tightened, keeping her anchored.  “We have to go.” 

 

Heather shook her head miserably and pushed at him.  He was steadfast, still trying to keep her going as she doubled over.  She retched at his feet, tears and mucus mixing in her grief.  “He- he was just with me.  He-“

 

Beck was still careful, still gentle as he held her matted hair back.  After her stomach was empty, he produced his canteen one more time.  “I know, Heather.  Come on.”  She let her gaze linger for just a moment longer.  Russell had saved her life more than once.  She hoped his death had been quick.  It hadn’t been painless, but she hoped it was fast.  It brought another thought to her mind.

 

“Beck, they killed Trish too.  I heard them.” 

 

The howling winds of the storm outside were picking up debris around them.  With the front doors busted open years ago, they were already in the storm standing under the roof.  He ordered his men to take defensive positions and secure their exit before he finally addressed her.

 

“When we get out, there’s a tree line about three hundred feet away.  Constantino’s troops are all over the grounds and we _have_ to make that cover.  I need you to run, Heather.  Can you do that?”

 

She stared up at him.  Objectively she understood what he was asking; escape should be her primary concern.  Subjectively, though, he’d completely disregarded her anguish, hadn’t acknowledged that someone hadn’t made it out of the hell hole she’d been in.

 

“Trish.  Beck, Trish is still in there.  We can’t leave her.”

 

He was scanning the room, looking for threats, but his gaze snapped right back to her at her scream.  He shook his head.  “She’s in Jericho, Heather-“

 

“No.  No, I heard them torture her.”  If only he’d brought more men.  They could have cleared the whole compound out and retrieved Trish’s body.  For the first time since she’d been taken, Heather started to panic.  Trish hadn’t deserved what happened to her and they _had to_ get her back.

 

“It wasn’t her, Heather.  Come on.”

 

Heather turned back towards the darkened hallways.  She had to-

 

“Stop!”  Beck’s voice was muffled by the wind but his hand was firm around her wrist.  He tugged her towards the exit.  Her foot caught and she stumbled, hitting his side hard.  It had the effect of loosening his grip and she broke away.  She limped as best as she could, returning to that dark place she’d been stashed.  She’d drag Trish’s body out by herself if she had to.

 

Beck was screaming behind her, giving his men orders.  She ignored him.  She ignored the rain blowing at her back and the cracks of lightning that were still making her heart jump.  They wouldn’t leave her here.  No woman left behind.

 

The main hallway was dark as she approached it and she tried to remember the route they’d just traveled.  Her foot caught again, sending her careening into the corner of the junction.  She landed hard with her ankle twisted under her. 

 

A burst of gun fire sounded, right next to her.  The last of Constantino’s core soldiers had found them.  She could see them, taking cover behind old furniture and counted four men total.  She caught the sound of yelling and more gunfire.  Her hands came up to protect her face and ears from the noise.  It was so loud.  So loud and confusing.  She was caught in the middle of a firefight.  Perhaps firefight wasn’t the right word because she could tell Constantino’s men were shooting at Beck’s troops but Beck wasn’t shooting back.

 

_You’re in the way,_ her head screamed.  _You’re in the way and you can’t move._

 

The gunfire died, magazines being replaced and Constantino’s men readjusting their position. 

 

A shout brought everyone’s movement to a halt.  “Boys!  Looks like she’s come back to us.”

 

She knew the ugly truth of her situation before she raised her eyes to find Constantino’s Lieutenant standing over her triumphantly.  He’d finally spotted her huddled against the corner.  He raised his gun, pointing it right at her forehead.  “You’re a fucking bit of trouble, bitch, you know that?  Should have killed you months ago.”

 

The man’s fingers tightened around the grip as three quick bursts of gun fire exploded into his side, sending him sprawling away from her.  Blood splattered her cheek and Heather screamed.  More shots followed, more of Constantino’s men falling.  She let herself look back towards the exit with wide, shocked eyes. 

 

Holding an assault rifle at the ready, Beck was approaching with quick and sure steps.  His eyes were pinned to the last man alive, waiting for his opening.  When he was given his kill shot, Beck took it.  Heather’s breath caught in her throat at the image; there was a dissonance in her mind between the Beck she’d known for months, the noble leader that was equal parts dedication and honor, and the soldier ready to kill a man that crouched in front of her now. 

 

His eyes bore the traces of the lives he’d just taken.  Lips pressed into a grim line, he pulled her to her feet.  His gun was slung to his back, hands free to brush the hair from her eyes.  The blood and tears on her cheeks received similar treatment.  “Are you okay?”  The voice was the same, maybe a bit tenser but still his soft cadence of authority.

 

She glanced back at the four dead bodies in the hallway behind her then back at Beck.  She nodded.

 

He let himself inspect her for gunshot related injuries for another moment.  “Don’t _ever_ run from me again like that.”  His tone shifted to desperation, to anguish.  Beck’s cheeks were drained of blood, his forehead creased.  He was terrified.  For her.

 

This was a part of him that she _hadn’t_ seen before and it scared her.  She brought a hand up to squeeze the fingers he was cradling her chin with.  His glove was warm and that strong grip grounded her again.  She gave him a short nod; she wouldn’t run away again.

 

Beck’s arm circled her chest again.  She’d done something to her ankle and it wasn’t pleasant.  She gripped him tight around the neck and let him lead her out into the storm still raging and to freedom.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, Constantino is still alive in the comics and an integral part of the storyline. As much as I wanted Beck to step in and blow his brains out, I couldn't. So, Constantino escaped and Heather wasn't all that worse for wear. I also realized I never mentioned Trish in any of the previous chapters but she's still there. Because I love Trish and I couldn't kill her like that.
> 
> Next up: Beck and Heather bonding! Yay! Fluff.


End file.
